- The weather went from a blousy 75 degrees and sunny, proper August Bank Holiday weather over the weekend, to minus 3 on Monday night. Nature, once again, keeping us on our toes.
- This was the day that Boris spoke to the country. I thought he sounded okay until I saw this.
- My mother has broken her ankle in two places and is being looked after quite brilliantly by my daughter, who is also trying to hold down her very rigorous WFH job in advertising analytics. They are living on a diet of Bon Appetit, Alison Roman and Momofuku recipies. I'm slightly jealous.
- I've made a deal with my daughter to write my book two hours a day. In turn, she's running every day. As I don't want to disappoint her, I'm going to stick to it. Even if it sucks, I don't care. There have been years of procrastination. And now, as we're all going to die anyway, why not? (Regular programming will return soon, I promise. I'm really not this person. Glass half full, always.)
- Yesterday was the worst day I can remember; total loss of mojo, humor and warmth. I was then told by a kind person on Twitter that three planets had all gone into retrograde at the same time and so we were all fucked. Of course not as fucked as we have been by that Orange Idiot in the White House. Yes, he's the worst possible leader for the worst possible time. I am at the point that I don't want to see or hear his name ever again.
- Journalists rock. Thank goodness for the White House press corps, who are now working together to catch him out on his lies. Yuck.
- It's my son's thirtieth birthday tomorrow. As I think of him as about 9, I find this hard to imagine. Somehow, despite it all, we are all still alive and we've made it through thirty years. Yup. Couldn't be prouder.
|Ned and me and Teazle, Christmas 1995, I think.|
- I'm sick and tired of this lockdown. I just want to get a blow dry, put on lipstick and heels and a dress and go somewhere ridiculous for lunch. Or even a meeting at a studio. Anything.
|Five years ago, when I still dressed up. Vintage Ferragamos. With Thistle.|
- I dry my sheets on the washing line. I don't iron them. I've always been a stickler for ironed sheets, but something about windblown, slightly crispy white linen sheets is making me enormously happy.
- I have a garden in a house I can't move into yet. Nothing is more thrilling than gardening. I can't wait to move. It's all I think about; being in my own house again and tending my own garden. I live for that garden. That garden is my Hope.
- This piece by Taffy Akner-Brodesser will make your world better. Surprisingly it's about Val Kilmer, but not really.
- Sending you love, even if I don't know you. Also, feel free to email me. I don't really know how to reply to all the comments here directly. My name is bumble and my email is firstname.lastname@example.org. Thank you for being here. xo